


Normal

by misskatieleigh



Series: the normal life is an illusion [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Pre Stanford, Preseries, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-26
Updated: 2007-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-12 20:32:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misskatieleigh/pseuds/misskatieleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Having Dean Winchester as a big brother can put a damper on your love life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Normal

**Author's Note:**

> this was written oh so long ago. moving things over from livejournal.

**One**

 

He's used to being overlooked, never mind the six-foot plus of height demanding attention; Dean Winchester casts a long shadow.

Sam’s gotten used to being in the background, geek boy to Dean’s cool guy attitude. He’s the perpetual new kid, too weird and too smart for the popular girls and too mysterious for the smart girls. Dean’s got his charm and his smile, the cool car and the leather jacket. And, inevitably, he’s got the girl to go along with it all.

 

\--------

Sam’s late coming home, an afternoon in the empty library preferable to sitting in the empty apartment they’re renting while he finishes out the school year. Dad’s off on a hunt two states away, told them to stay put and he’d call when he was heading home. Sam’s seen that look in his eyes before, that need to get away; he’s pretty sure they’ll be in Southeast Nowhere alone for a while.

Dean’s got a job with the local mechanic, comes home smelling like grease and sweat but the tension across his shoulders wears a bit lighter these days. Bad jokes and random conversation about this car or that one he’s worked on fill in the empty spaces of conversation; less to say with two instead of three ‘round the table at night.

It’s inevitable, really, that Dean will find some girl. Usually, it’s more like girls – he was never one to have a girlfriend, not that they had time for that anyhow. Sam’s not surprised to come home and find some girl perched up on the kitchen counter, denim skirt riding up toned thighs and leaving little to the imagination. He is surprised that she’s alone, though. And that she seems to be … reading.

He stumbles ungracefully through the doorway, still growing into the length of his arms and legs. His mind seems to think he’s still a chubby little kid; so bumped knees and elbows have become a part of life. The girl starts when his backpack hits the floor, slipping down off the counter quickly.

Her hands cross in front of her, nervous stance covering her chest with slender arms. “Um… H..hi. Are you Sam?”

Her hesitation is almost endearing, combined with the fact that she took the time to remember his name; it’s more effort than most of Dean’s girls put into him. He nods slightly, the edges of his mouth pulling up into a small smile.

“Yeah. Uh.. Where’s Dean?”

He doesn’t tell her that Dean’s never left anyone alone in one of their apartments before. Hell, he doesn’t even know if Dean let her into the apartment in the first place. She looks around quickly, small hand flitting out to pick up a scrap of paper on the counter. Dean’s chicken scratch handwriting is distinctive, half code words and half laziness. _‘Boss called. Back soon. Meet Amy. Play nice.’_ He can’t help but chuckle at the last comment, _he’s_ not the one with a ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’ attitude.

“Yeah. Sam Winchester. And you are... Amy?”

Her nervousness seems to fade at his acceptance of her, stepping forward and raising her hand politely to shake his. Sam fumbles, wiping perpetually sweaty palms down the front of his jeans before taking her hand in his own.

“Amy Warner. Nice to meet you, _Sam Winchester_.”

Sam freezes for a moment at the name, looking her over one more time before his brain connects this Amy Warner to the Amy Warner in his advanced chemistry class. The Amy Warner that he’s had a crush on since the first day he stepped foot into this school. He’s spent so much time staring at the back of her head in class, he hadn’t even recognized her once she was actually _looking_ at him.

Life sucks.

 

 

**Two**

 

Sam stumbles a bit more once he’s recognized her, nervousness spreading a flush like a red stain across his cheeks. He can feel his ears burning, fights back the urge to swipe at the hair falling across his eyes.

The worst part is that she’s nice to him, mentions that she remembers him from class like he’s someone she’d actually notice. She babbles a little about this and that, a sort of shy ramble to battle away the emptiness that silence leaves. It’s that fact, that she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, that tugs at him. He can feel himself relaxing, falling into whatever story she’s on now and they’re both laughing by the time Dean comes home from the garage.

Dean’s messy and sweaty, oil marks left on the bags of takeout Chinese gripped in his hands, but she doesn’t flinch away when he lays an arm across her shoulders, her head tilting up for the kiss he leaves on her mouth. Sam watches, feels his heart ache at the fall of her hair across his brother’s arm, rich brown across dirt and tan. He _wants_ that.

Unfortunately, the smile on her face belongs to Dean Winchester. That shadow’s threatening to block out the sun.

They eat - Sam alone on the couch, Amy and Dean in the kitchen. He lifts her back up onto the counter she was on when Sam came home and settles between her open thighs like he belongs there. Feeds her sweet and sour chicken with chopsticks and sticky fingers. Sam makes a point not to look at them.

He _wants_ that.

 

\--------

It becomes some sort of strange normalcy, coming home and finding her there. Sometimes she’s in the kitchen, head tilted down over a book. Other times she’s spread out on the couch, soft lines in her face betraying her afternoon nap despite her attempts to deny it. Sam wonders why she’s here; though he’s happy for the noise to fill up the apartment, the company she gives until Dean steps in and steals her away with his smile.

But he’s curious all the same, why Dean’s apparently having a _relationship_ all of a sudden, and with a high school girl no less. He can see why Amy would be attracted to Dean, he’s well aware of his brother’s effect on the fairer sex. It’s almost like they can smell the hunter on him. Sam’s pretty certain he doesn’t carry that scent because that’s not what he wants to be. No, what he wants is what Dean currently has -- a pretty girl, a normal job, connections and something stable. It confuses the hell out of him because that isn’t what Dean wants.

It’s what _he_ wants.

 

 

**Three**

 

He knows that they fuck.

He’s heard them; the paper-thin walls of the apartment are not enough of a barrier to quiet the sounds. He’s well aware of the noises Dean makes, the rough grunt too familiar after years in motel rooms shared by three. He doesn’t listen to that. He listens for her, imagines her mouth forming the soft sounds; imagines the flush across her face and the sweat coating her skin.

Imagines it’s him instead of Dean.

He never looks her in the eye when they come out of the bedroom; soft goodnight kisses at the door as she leaves for the night. He’s trained himself not to listen to whatever they whisper before she slips into the dark.

Dean settles into the armchair, feet up on the coffee table as he drinks a beer. He smells like her, like _them_ , and Sam breaks a pencil in half trying not to hit him.

 

\--------

It’s inevitable, really. But it’s still a shock when it happens, Sam swinging the apartment door open one Saturday, the cool crisp air of the school library abandoned for the humid weight of springtime in the south. It’s still a surprise to find them in the kitchen; Amy perched on the very counter where he first found her, Dean’s hands holding her in place as he rocks forward into her.

He can’t look away.

It’s more than he ever imagined, her head thrown back against the cabinet, sweat soaked hair curling against her face. His eyes follow the long line of neck curving into delicate collarbone, watching Dean’s mouth claiming possession against her skin.

Sam wants to run, wants nothing more than to erase this image burned into his mind, but he’s frozen in place. His mind’s impulse to _leavemovegetaway_ fizzles out to nothing, drowned out by the call of his dick that says nothing more than _I want_. She’s close now, her breath coming out in soft gasps as she curls one hand around the back of Dean’s neck, the other slipped between her own legs to cover the tracks of Dean’s fingers across her clit.

Sam vaguely realizes that his backpack is dropping, its fall defined by the sight of her eyes ripping open as the bag hits the floor with a soft thump. Her eyes meet his across the room for just a second before her body takes over and then she’s coming, violent and beautiful. Her eyes snap closed again, soft cry overlaid with the sound of Dean’s voice, but Sam’s already moving, already running; his backpack left on the floor where it dropped.

 

 

**Four**

 

Sam’s good at hiding.

He’s run away from more dangerous things than an embarrassing situation and gotten out alive. But Dean’s a good tracker – one of the best - and he knows Sam inside out. Except it isn’t Dean that finds him, crouched in the backseat of the Impala – more home than any apartment they’ve ever stayed in.

It’s not Dean that finds him; it’s Amy. She slides into the driver’s seat, hands going to the wheel automatically. Grounding herself. She doesn’t turn around or look into the rearview to find him, just starts talking – soft and quiet, but still her nervous ramble that fills the emptiness of the car.

“M’sorry that happened, Sam. Should’ve locked the door or somethin’. Shouldn’t have been in the kitchen. Didn’t mean for you to see.”

He shifts slightly on the floor, arms wrapping around the folded length of his legs like he could curl up tight enough to disappear. His voice cracks a little, a tiny whisper filtering into the front seat.

“S’okay. I should’ve left right away. Didn’t mean to stare at you like that.”

He can hear her fingers tapping lightly on the wheel, echoes of being on the highway with Dean. He clears his throat, voice louder this time.

“How’d you know where to find me?”

The tapping pauses, a slight creak of vinyl as she shifts around in the seat. He looks up, her eyes just visible over the top of the headrest. Her voice is muffled, mouth seemingly pressed into the seat.

“Your brother said you’d be out here.”

She shifts again, pushing up higher on her knees until her head’s leaning down over the seat. Sam looks up, watching the street light halo around her hair, her shadow falling down over him. He feels small again, hiding in the backseat of Dean’s car. Amy is silent for a moment, just watching him. She takes a breath finally, curls her arms around the back of the seat like she’s hugging it.

“Sam? Do you want to go back inside?”

Sam snorts a little, his head falling down against the cradle of his knees, his cheek resting on the rough denim.

“Not really. I think I might move into the backseat here. ‘Course my legs might fall off, but I think I can make that sacrifice.”

Her laughter fills the car and Sam feels a little lighter, even though his crush is getting bigger.

 

 

**Five**

 

Things go back to normal, for the most part.

Sam takes to knocking on the door before he comes in to the apartment. Dean teases him relentlessly for about a week, calls him Peeping Tom and then just Tommy like its _Sammy_ until Sam finally _tacklesthrows_ himself at Dean and wrestles him to the floor.

All three of them are surprised when Sam comes out on top, Dean pinned to the floor beneath him with one arm twisted behind his back.

Somehow, Amy is always there when Sam comes home from school. She brings her backpack with her now, spreads pages upon pages of notes out across the living room floor in a puzzle of studying; lays down in the middle of the mess so she can twist and reach whatever she’s looking for.

He watches her sometimes, always in the peripheral, stretched out like a cat in the sunlight. He tries not to let his breath catch in his throat every time her shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of pale stomach, memories of all that skin laid out bare flashing through his mind.

Sometimes he thinks she must know what she’s doing to him.

Spring warms into summer, all the windows in the apartment thrown open to let in the slightest breeze; there’s not enough extra in Dean’s paycheck to splurge on air conditioning. The heat makes them lazy, studying traded for afternoon naps.

School will be ending soon. For Sam all that means is that he won’t have an excuse to make them stay in one place anymore. Amy produces a folder one afternoon, thick heavy stationary inside declaring that she’s been accepted into some school up north. Sam’s face must register something like disappointment because the next time he looks up, the folder’s been tucked back into her bag and she’s curled up in the corner of the couch sleeping. It hurts a little to see her able to be so excited about something, knowing he has a similar folder tucked between the mattress and box spring of his bed. Part of him insists that he should show it to her, she’d understand.

He’s thinking about kissing her when Dean walks through the front door.

 

 

**Six**

 

They’re graduating.

Amy’s hopped up on too much sugar, too much caffeine. Too much too much. She’s practically vibrating out of her skin, bouncing around on the back lawn of the high school until Sam puts his hands on her shoulders and holds her in place. Even then she just turns and wraps her arms around him.

He’s so caught up in the moment that he barely realizes that this is the first time she’s ever touched him in public.

Then Dean’s there, scooping her out of his arms and pressing her up against the rough brick of the school building. Amy laughs, pushing him away so she can step back into line; Warner before Winchester, so she’s lined up right in front of him as they march toward the makeshift stage. Just before they come around the side of the building, she reaches back and grabs onto his hand, squeezing his fingers lightly. She doesn’t look back at him but he’s pretty sure she’s crying.

No one mentions that their dad isn’t there to see the graduation.

Sam’s expecting it, really; Dad’s never been real reliable about things concerning school or Sam in general. But Dean and Amy are there, smiles brighter than the sun beating down on their backs. He’s happy right in the moment, watching his brother give his girl a piggyback ride across the football field.

It’s not the normal he’s been yearning for but it’s a kind of normal at least -- and he can live with that.

 

\---------

They have their own little party, camped out on the roof of the apartment building with beer and pizza. Someone across town is shooting off fireworks in celebration and Amy’s laid out in Dean’s lap, head resting back on his shoulder so she can watch the sky. Sam watches them, watches the smile cross Dean’s face every time she turns her head to whisper in his ear. He’s surprised that he doesn’t feel that twinge anymore. He doesn’t feel _jealousangry I-want-that_. It’s more like ‘ _I want that for him_ ’.

It feels good.

 

 

**Seven**

 

The secret folder goes over big with Amy, eyes lighting up at the distinctive seal embossed into the cover. She punches him in the arm for not telling her sooner and Sam fakes like she actually hurt him, falling to the floor in an over dramatic heap.

She just nudges him with her foot. “You’re such a girl, Sam.”

Sam smiles back at her, still lying on the floor. “Now I know why Dean likes you so much.”

Her smile fades a bit as she sits down on the floor, leaning back against the couch. She doesn’t say anything for a minute, the apartment quieter than it has been for months.

“Dean says you guys will be leaving soon.”

She pauses, the last hint of a smile dropping from her face. “I get the feeling that he’s not the type to keep in touch.”

Sam rolls onto this side so he can look at her, wraps his hand around her ankle just for the sake of contact. “For what it’s worth, I know he’ll miss you. _I’ll_ miss you too. Believe it or not, he’s trying to protect you.”

They’re still sitting there when Dean comes home from work. He lies down on the couch behind them, still in his work clothes.

“Talked to Dad today.”

 

**Eight**

 

Palo Alto is different than any place Sam’s ever been. They’ve been to California more times than he could count but this is the first time he’s ever been _alone_. Still, he wants this and he’s determined to do it, burned up the bridges behind him just to be here.

And he’s met this girl. When she smiles, it’s like Amy’s standing right there in front of him. Looking right at him without any shadows but the one he makes across her face.


End file.
